


hurry on home

by finaljoy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hitchhiking, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Wilson Feels, Trust, a splash of bucky/nat cuz why not, sam wilson is too precious and too real, steve rogers is here to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Sam looked at Steve Rogers the Impromptu Hitchhiker, he felt himself disconnect from everything. That happened, sometimes. Sometimes Sam felt like he was drifting away from the ground, floating up and up and up because Riley was now dead and he no longer had an anchor in this strange and confusing world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hurry on home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift for the darling red_b_rackham as part of the Beta Branch's Stocking Stuffer Challenge! This is a little different from my typical piece, but then, some happy pain and anguish doesn't make a really awesome Christmas present XD
> 
> I categorized this as a role reversal/hitchhiker au because it's the real world, Steve's a hitchhiker, and Sam and Steve are reversing the roles of who has things together and who does not ;)

Sam appreciated receiving unexpected help when down on his luck. If he'd know how much trouble the hitchhiker on the side of the road was going to be, though, he probably wouldn't have pulled over.

"Where you headed?" Sam asked, leaning over to speak through the passenger window.

"Seattle. Even if you can take me a mile, I'd appreciate it."

"No, Seattle's fine. No way I could leave you to walk this late at night. I'm headed past there, anyway."

"Past? Not much up there in terms of cities," the man said, tossing his bag in the back seat. He was broad shouldered with blond hair and was wearing several layers to protect himself from the cold.

"I'm just sightseeing," Sam said, watching the man climb into the passenger seat. "Figure it's a good time to catch the Northwest how it's supposed to be seen; cold and rainy."

The man laughed and nodded, tossing his damp jacket into the back before he buckled up.

"Know what you mean. Yesterday I was _really_ wondering what the hell I was doing on the side of the highway. Name's Steve Rogers, by the way."

"Sam Wilson," he said, offering his hand before pulling back onto the highway. "So, how'd you end up hitch hiking?"

Steve made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, like the story wasn't quite removed enough away to be funny. "Well, I _started_ flying."

Sam glanced at him in amused surprise. "What, you decide to stretch your legs halfway through?"

"Everything was fine 'til I got to Salt Lake."

"Where were you flying from?"

"JFK. I had a long layover in Salt Lake and then a snow storm blew in. They predicted it'd lock the place down for a few days, so I caught a ride with a guy I was sitting next to on the plane."

"Where'd he let you off?"

"Twin Falls. His friend was driving to Portland, though, so I just got another ride from him. Figured I could work out getting to Seattle after that."

Sam shook his head. He was living in his _car_ and he'd never seen such a run of bad luck. But Steve seemed perfectly fine with the run of flukes and frustrations. He certainly wasn't pleased by what had happened, but he didn't seem annoyed by the turn of events. Just listening to his simplified version of events gave Sam the impression that Steve had a knack for adapting to events with determined ease.

"So what's in Seattle that's so important?" Sam asked.

"Oh, it's my best friend's birthday in a couple days. I wanted to surprise him. Figured that since we haven't really seen each other since he went off active duty it was a good present."

"Active duty? What branch?" Sam asked, a finger of interest going through him.

"Army," Steve said, face lighting up. "He and I both served two tours."

"Air force," Sam said, giving Steve a slight nod. "Served one tour."

Steve returned the nod in a serious moment, then resumed his story. "Well, they moved him over to Fort Lewis before he was taken off, then he decided to settle there when he entered the reserves. I stayed over in Brooklyn."

"Well, I guess if you're coming from Brooklyn, it's not that big a change. You guys getting snow up there?"

"Yeah, a little bit. Mostly slush, though."

"I'm coming from California," Sam said with a smirk. "Got kinda tired of the blah warm weather."

Steve snorted and shook his head as rain continued to speckle the dark windshield.

"Going to surprise your friend for his birthday. That's quite the birthday present," Sam mused after a few moments. "I'd give anything for one of my air force buddies to drop by."

The words fell out of his mouth so easily, just slipping into existence before his brain could stop them. And then it was suddenly hard to swallow and Sam felt himself disconnect from everything. That happened, sometimes. Sometimes Sam felt like he was drifting away from the ground, floating up and up and up because Riley was now dead and he no longer had an anchor in this strange and confusing world.

He shouldn't have been sitting there, chatting with some stranger as he drove down the dark, rainy highway. Sam really didn't know what he was _supposed_ to do, which was probably why he had climbed into his car one day and not stopped driving since.

His sister, Jessica, had suggested a thousand and one things to pull him back to earth; gardening, getting a dog, becoming a physical trainer, joining Veteran Affairs to help himself cope by helping other people cope. But nothing stayed in Sam's head. They slid off his skin like droplets of water, losing sense in the cacophony that was now his life. The deafening roars of guilt and confusion and grief had been so intense that Sam had had to leave. Driving wasn't quite as exhilarating as flying, but it certainly helped him outstrip everything that tried to weigh him down.

Steve laughed and chattered on, friendly and eager to please. If he noticed Sam's responses ringing a little false in their cheer or saw the uneasiness in his eyes when he stared through the windshield, he didn't say.

As the clock edged its way toward ten, Sam turned to Steve.

"Okay, my plan was to get a motel for the night, 'cuz I've been going from way the hell too early in the morning. If you wanna get a room and then pick up tomorrow, fine with me, no one else's is taking your seat. But if you'd like to continue through the night, I can drop you anywhere you want along the way."

"How far out are we from Seattle?" Steve asked, tilting his head as he thought.

"Not too far, maybe two, two and a half hour's drive?"

"Okay, sounds good." Steve bobbed his head and offered a smile. "If you're willing, I'd like to keep going with you."

"Alright."

Sam's stomach twisted as he flicked on his blinker and edged over to the exit. He had meant it when he said he wanted to rest, he had hit the road before the sky lightened and hadn't stopped since. But the words felt like an excuse on his tongue, tainted by his need to get out of the car and escape the heavy feelings of dread the chipper golden retriever next to him was inducing.

Somewhere along the line Sam realized that his default had somehow shuddered to 'escape'.

They found a motel in a nearby small town and checked in. Sam waited by the front desk for Steve to get his room, rather than leaving him to grab his overnight bag. He blinked in surprise when he noticed. It was a little strange for him to fall back into the pattern of being with someone else after so long of being alone. It had been weeks since he had taken to the road, weeks of tumbling through towns, picking up odd jobs, scraping through on bare essentials because survival left no room for thought. And yet making small talk with and waiting around for Steve felt easy, like Sam had never stopped being a part of society in the first place.

For some reason, the whole thing felt kind of like betraying Riley's memory.

They grabbed their bags and headed to their rooms, pausing outside to figure out their plan for the following morning.

"How early do you want to get on the road?" Steve asked, giving that big eyed, serious look that Sam was coming to recognize.

"How early do you want to get to Seattle? I can drop you at you friend's door."

"Thanks," Steve said, giving a slightly surprised, touched look. "But really, I'm just tagging along with you. I'm not gonna make you to change your travel plans."

Sam actually laughed at that. "Travel plans? They go about as far as 'look at some mountains and nice trees'."

Steve nodded and gave a smile, but something about it struck Sam as false. It seemed like he was biting something back, pushing some comment away and not letting it plague the conversation. When he spoke his tone bordered serious.

"Alright, well, thanks. I don't mind getting a late start, if it's all the same to you. That diner over there looks like a good spot for breakfast," Steve said, gesturing at the darkened diner across the street.

Sam nodded and adjusted his bag, thinking about it. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that. Say…nine thirty, ten o'clock?"

"Yeah, I can do that," he said with a nod. "And Sam, thanks, really. Thank you for giving me a ride and then sticking with me. It probably seems slight, but I appreciate it."

"Not at all," Sam said, shaking his head. "We've all hit patches of bad luck. I don't mind helping a guy out where I can."

Steve smiled at him, and again Sam thought he saw that weird, suppressed look on Steve's face. He thought about asking what it was he wanted to say, but Steve simply shrugged and put his key into the lock.

"Alright, see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, good night."

Sam carried his bag inside and dropped it on his bed. He got a drink from the bathroom, then stood in the doorway and stared at the room. It seemed empty. It was one of dozens he had been in lately, all featureless and dull. There was no soul to the drab carpet and ugly bed covers. They were just fillers to be overlooked as people came and went.

It suddenly made Sam miss Jessica's house. He had moved in with her after Riley died, when he had been too numb to protest properly. Her home had been full of color and pictures and plants, everything that said she loved the place and was not about to leave. He liked the open armed comfort she offered, even if it had begun to chafe the last little while.

Sam sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. He left the stiflingly bland room as he dialed Jessica's number. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk outside his door and waited for her to pick up. The streetlights glittered against the wet streets and a soft drizzle caught the warm orange light.

"Hello?"

Sam closed his eyes at the sound of her voice. Somehow it managed to both relax him and form a rock in his stomach. She sounded guarded when she spoke, hiding her relief and worry in case it spooked him. He had never intended for that to happen.

"Hey, Jessica."

"Sam, hey," she said, finally letting the words come out in a gentle sigh. "Been a while since you've called."

"You could call me, too, y'know." There was no bite to his words when he spoke. How could there be, when Jessica had always sounded like home?

"Yeah, well, if you're gonna run away from home, then you've _at least_ got to be responsible enough to check in on your own. I'm not Mom, I'm not gonna come running after you."

"Since when has Mom run after _anyone_?"

"I distinctly remember an instance where she thought she saw Matt Damon walking down the street."

"Who doesn't love Matt Damon?" he asked, the smile feeling honest and warm on his face. It fell from his face when Jessica spoke again.

"So…what're you calling about?" He could hear the doubt in her voice, mixing with that worry from before.

"Just…just checking in. Things got a little crazy for a while, my car broke down on the highway. _That_ was fun, waiting in the rain for someone to come help out."

"But it's all okay now?"

"Yup, got it all fixed. I'm up by Seattle right now, wanted to see some of the sights."

"Yeah, I heard rain and cold was always special over there this time of year."

"I just needed a break from California."

"You've had a break for over a month," Jessica said quietly.

Sam didn't answer, instead choosing to stare at the ground between his feet. His shoes looked worn. Everything he had looked worn. Even his car was giving up, patches and hopes and prayers and barely keeping things together.

"I'm just—I can't go back just yet, Jessica. I don't know if…things just aren't the same after Riley."

"I know, Sam, I know. But they're not going to be the same no matter where you go, you've got to know that."

"There's nothing _for_ me back there. I can't go back when I know that I'll just be treading water."

"And there's something for you out in Seattle?"

Sam smothered an annoyed sigh. Part of the reason why he hadn't called Jessica in so long was because she was relentless in her campaign to bring him home. Every time they spoke she wheedled and suggested and alluded and tried to help in the most difficult way.

Sam didn't need to be reminded of how great home was, he remembered every time his body ached from sleeping in his car, every time he got out at a windy, solitary rest stop, every time he checked into an austere motel. Her bringing it up only raked against his skin, stinging him deeper and deeper until his pride mixed in with his panic and made almost certain he would never be able to go back. So, instead of addressing her question, he changed subjects.

"I met a guy today."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm, he was hitchhiking up to Seattle."

"In _March?_ " Jessica asked, disbelief edging out disappointment over him avoiding the matter she really wanted to sink her teeth into.

"Yeah. Guy seems to have the _worst_ luck. Said he started out flying, but things just went downhill from Salt Lake City."

"Is he okay? Where's he going?"

"He wants to surprise his old army buddy. They haven't seen each other in ages, so he decided he'd pop by."

"Well, that's cool. I'm assuming he's not there with you at the moment?"

"No, we decided to stop for the night at a motel. He's in his room. Really, though, this guy, he's got the _worst_ luck. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He's not upset that he's had a patchwork ride all the way across the country. Everything seems a matter of perspective."

"Think we all can take a lesson from him."

"Seriously. The guy's fascinating and I literally just found him on the side of the road."

"Yeah? Well, then I'm glad you found him. You can't keep running forever, Sam, and when you slow down you'll need more people in your life."

"So you're giving the bad a pass, too?"

"I'm sure you won't let those types stay," Jessica said, a warm smile in her voice. "But you _do_ need someone to stick around."

Sam gave a tired smile. It sounded so easy when Jessica said it like that. And so desirable. When she parsed people as a casual necessity rather than a dangerous liability, it made Sam's chest ache a little from longing.

"Yeah, maybe," he said, then bid her good night.

* * *

"Good morning," Steve said, running into Sam outside their rooms the next morning. Sam smiled and acted polite, trying not to draw attention to the large bag of laundry slung over his shoulder.

"Morning. Sleep well?" he asked, opening the door to his room.

"Mm, yeah, I did. Thanks for letting me tag along, I really appreciate it," Steve said. He looked so sincere, eyes big like he was worried Sam might not believe him. Sam huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

"Like I said, no big deal. Never hurts to help a guy out."

_You need someone to stick around,_ Jessica's unhelpful reminder whispered, which Sam promptly ignored.

"Just let me drop this off and we can hop over to that diner," he called from inside his room. Steve waited by the doorway, then they walked over to the diner across the street.

"So, what're you thinking about having?" Steve asked after they had been seated and were consulting menus.

"French toast, eggs, and hash browns. Always. French toast is a given."

"I dunno," Steve mused. "The garden omelet looks _amazing._ "

Sam snorted but felt his mood improving. There was something undeniably genuine about Steve that he couldn't get over. The more he looked at him the more Sam longed for home. He wanted to do things that made him feel good, not sated, not pacified, but good because he was _doing_ good.

They ordered their food, working through casual conversation. Sam's dread of being reminded of Riley slowly faded as they stayed on safe topics. He felt alright, things were good. Jessica's advice of finding someone decent to keep in his life was more acceptable in the gentle light of day, and though Sam doubted he could launch into finding a friend on the side of the road, he felt confident that small positive influences were possible.

"So how long have you known this friend in Seattle?" he asked, looking at Steve over his freshly delivered mug of hot chocolate.

"Oh, me and Bucky grew up together. We're both from Brooklyn, but we kind of lost touch with each other after high school. Then we found each other again in the army and we've stayed close ever since."

"Must be nice," Sam mused. "You know, some guys that you get to know while living on base, you click with them but then you don't really think about them after one of you moves away."

"Yeah, yeah. Not me and Bucky, though. Didn't you ever have a guy like that?"

"Once, yeah. Riley," Sam said, cautious now that his name had been said. "He and I, we were more like brothers than anything. He died in the line of duty."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, and Sam believed he meant it. "That must have been difficult."

"Yeah," Sam said after a pause, "yeah it was."

Steve watched him for a long moment, again chewing on something he wanted to say. When he did speak, his words were slow.

"Is that…is that why you're out here?"

Sam looked at him in confusion, not sure what he meant.

"I noticed the bags in the back of your car," Steve said hesitantly. "They seemed like more than just a few days' road trip. And, I, uh, heard your phone call last night. I closed my window once I realized it was private, but I…caught a bit."

Sam took in a slow breath. Warning flags were popping up all over in his mind, but he forced himself to be calm. Jessica was right. He couldn't keep running. He was okay.

He looked around the diner to give himself some time. A few people sat at the bar, a couple of men walked in, some old people sat scattered in the booths. Sam glanced into his partially finished hot chocolate and sighed.

"It's…okay. He died about—about three months ago. And I know it's not my fault, there was _nothing_ I could do, but I was his wingman, you know? I should have kept him safe, and it's just—it's hard? I moved in with my sister for a little bit, but…" Sam shook his head and shrugged. "Just needed a change of pace."

Steve nodded. "I get that. After something so awful…I don't know what I'd do if I lost Bucky. It would be hard to be around the people I knew after that."

Sam grit his teeth. He was okay, he was okay. Steve's words didn't need to grate against his skin, didn't need to feel like a cheap mockery when this guy that seemingly had it all condescended to guess at what Sam was feeling.

"Let's just leave it, okay?"

"Of course," Steve said, again giving him that damnably sincere look. Sam was starting to long to be in Seattle, if only to spare himself that further sincerity.

He was relieved when their food came and gave him an excuse to drop the conversation. Steve wisely left things alone and let them drift back into casual conversation. Sam worked through his breakfast, forcing himself from being annoyed by everything Steve did. Steve was a good guy, Sam had liked him a few minutes ago. Just because he had forced himself into a very private part of Sam's life…because Sam had let him wander there unattended…just because someone had seen the raw parts of Sam's life didn't mean he had to escape from them. But those parts were still a little bit _too_ raw to be examined any further.

"Yeah, the art lessons are fine, but I prefer the open painting sessions," Steve explained. Sam dutifully nodded, only half listening as he planned his next move.

Maybe he didn't need to go back to California, maybe he could skip through Idaho and go into Montana, maybe see if Wyoming had anything of interest. He could go on for forever…if his car held out.

"…I think it's a lot more fun when people are comfortable enough to really let their own interests and styles go—I'm sorry, I've just—"

Sam clicked back in fully when Steve interrupted himself and turned to peer at something over Sam's shoulder. Sam frowned, craning his head to see the men that had walked in earlier standing by a woman at the bar. It took him about two seconds to realize that they were harassing her, everyone had noticed and weren't pleased by it, and Steve was about to make it stop.

"C'mon, Maisy, I think you'd really love it. Top of the mountain's great this time of year, even with the rain," one of them was saying.

"Yeah, and if you get a little cold, you could always sit in my lap," the other sleazed, making Sam's grip on his mug tighten. Maisy mumbled something and shook her head, posture shrinking farther and farther in on itself.

Steve got up from their booth.

"Guys," the man behind the bar said weakly, "come on, please, leave Maisy alone. Order something if you're going to, but if not…"

"Hank, we'll do it in a minute, ease up."

"Excuse me, ma'am," Steve said, voice loud enough to make them turn. Maisy looked at Steve in alarm, but interest and relief showed on the faces of the people sitting by. The two men looked personally offended at being interrupted. "Are these men bothering you?"

Maisy began to stammer a response, but the man on the far end of Maisy cut her off.

"The hell are you?"

"Just someone trying to enjoy breakfast. Ma'am," Steve repeated, focusing again on Maisy, "are these men bothering you?"

"Does it _look_ like she's annoyed?" the other man asked, then turned to his friend. "Jeff, you think Maisy's annoyed?"

"Nah, she'd tell us."

"Okay then. Go back to your coffee, we're fine."

"Fellas," Steve repeated, and there was something in his voice that said he was ready to bloody his knuckles on someone's face. "I'm going to ask you once."

Sam heaved a sigh, downed the last bit of his hot chocolate, and got to his feet. The two idiots at the bar looked dumb enough to take on one big, strapping man, but he doubted they would chance taking on two.

"Guys," Sam said, "let's be reasonable. We just wanna finish our breakfast and hit the road." He gestured at his car across the parking lot to emphasize his point, and while Jeff's eyes flickered in the direction he indicated the other man continued glaring at them.

"Awh, stay outta this," he snapped. His fists were clenched and looked about ready to fly.

"I want you to take it outside, right now," the man behind the counter said. "I'm not having any windows or tables broken before the cops come to pick you up for fighting."

"You're calling the _police,_ Hank?!" Jeff's friend demanded.

"If you throw a single punch, Alan McCurdy, you believe I will."

"Jeff, let's just go," Alan huffed, glancing back at his friend. Jeff worked his jaw, unwilling to step down. " _Jeff._ "

Jeff sneered and forced his way past Steve, stalking toward the door. They shoved it open and huffed out, chased out by the light chime of the bell.

Once the door had closed behind them, the diner broke into quick applause. Sam glanced around and fought the smile on his face, while Steve was still intent on Maisy.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, uhm, I'm fine. Thank you."

"I'm glad you boys stepped in. Those two are a pair of punks just because their daddies got a lot of money. Anyone else stood up to them, they'd probably have taken a swing," Hank said.

"It's nothing, I just didn't want to sit by," Steve said, nodding at Hank and then Maisy, and then retreating to his seat. Sam huffed out a laugh and followed him back to their table.

"So you're sort of a hero, huh?" he asked. Steve looked surprised.

"Hero? Oh no, just…a decent human being."

"Better than me."

"You still got up."

"Only because that guy looked like he was about to lay into you."

"No one else in the diner got up," Steve insisted, a smile spreading across his face.

"Everyone else is over _sixty._ "

"Sam. You still did it."

"So you're saying I'm like you, I just do stuff slower," Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, it's a nice thought. Uhm, waiter?"

Steve watched Sam as he waited impatiently for the waiter to approach, the laugh in his voice falling away.

What did _Steve_ know about him? He had spent less than a day around Sam, and yet here he was, making assumptions about his character?

Sam resented the labels being thrown onto him, especially when he knew they were so _false._ Good men didn't drop their lives and everyone they knew. They didn't sail off into the tear-stained sunset when things became hard, they stuck it out and didn't make it all about themselves. They weren't like him.

"Can I help you two?" the waiter asked, appearing at their table.

"Can we get the check?"

"Oh, Maisy paid for your food."

"What?" Sam glanced over to where Maisy had been sitting, but she had disappeared.

"Mm-hm. It was her way of thanking you. Even if she hadn't, Hank woulda made sure we covered it for you. Really, thanks for what you did."

"O…kay," Sam said slowly, trying to process the idea even as he ignored Steve's triumphant look.

They began to clear out of their table when the man behind the counter, Hank, called out to them.

"Boys, one of you got that green little compact at the motel?"

"Yeah, why?" Sam said, back of his neck prickling.

"Them idiots from before, Jeff and Alan, they're trying to steal it."

Sam hissed out a curse as he jerked out of the booth, feeling Steve on his heels and hearing Hank promise he was calling the police. Sure enough, there was someone in the front seat of Sam's car while another was under the hood hot-wiring his car.

" _Hey!"_ he shouted, making the man under the hood jerk and swear. The one behind the wheel jolted as well, starting the car and slamming it into reverse.

This wasn't possible. There was no way Sam was watching his car be stolen because he had done a _good thing._

The man behind the wheel, Alan, jerked the car out of the parking lot and attempted to escape down the road. Steve shot off after him, while Sam launched himself at Jeff. He had been trying to disappear around the motel corner, but Sam tackled him to the ground. Jeff flailed, clipping Sam in the jaw with his elbow. He reared back, and then Jeff managed to land a hard punch to his chest. Sam gasped and tried to grab a breath of air, but Jeff further stunned him with a harsh shove to the ground.

Sam landed in a patch of sand near the motel, lights popping into existence before his eyes as any air that had remained in his chest was forcibly removed. He watched Steve sprint to catch up with the car and yank Alan from the passenger seat. Alan, in his panic, slammed his foot down on the gas pedal as he was pulled out, causing the car to speed forward rather than peter out in the middle of the three way intersection. Sam closed his eyes as he watched his car crash into a light pole, hearing the crunching the front bumper echo through his head again and again.

Sam pressed his hands into the sand and moaned as he tried to lift himself up. He managed to flop sideways and had to take a moment to catch his breath as pain shot through his chest.

_Crap_ , he thought, seeing the column of smoke go tumbling around the still open hood of his car. _Not again._

By the time Sam had forced himself to his feet, Steve had hauled Alan back to the motel parking lot and the people in the diner had crowded onto the sidewalk. The police had also arrived and were herding everyone away from the site. Jeff had disappeared, but according to some of the bystanders, everyone knew where everyone lived in that town and the police would have him before lunchtime.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Steve said, hurrying over to get a few words in before the medics flocked around them. "I didn't think—"

" _Look,_ Steve," Sam snarled, whirling to face him. He ignored the twinge of pain in his chest, feeling only the hot anger pounding through his head. "Look, are you happy? You got to butt in and be the hero and get my car wrecked. That's totally what I needed just now, thanks."

"I didn't mean for this to happen—"

"Yeah, well, _it did._ So go find someone else to hitch with to your best friend's house, I'm tired of hearing about how great your life is when mine has so obviously gone to crap! Okay? Just leave. Take your bag out of my wrecked car, take your optimism and your come-what-may attitude and just _go._ I'm _done._ "

Sam knew on some level that that wasn't fair. He knew that Steve wasn't to blame for a couple of idiots trying to steal and then wrecking his car. He knew that Steve hadn't been trying to rub his good luck or efficiency or responsibility into Sam's face. He knew all of that. But at that moment it was so much easier to blame a virtual stranger for all of his current problems rather than face them himself. Jessica's words of needing to stop running and also needing friends ran through his head over and over and over again. But his self-righteous anger was making it difficult to think straight and he quickly cast the thought aside.

He answered the police and the medics' questions, gave his statement, and listened to their assurances that this would be dealt with as soon as possible, that those boys were just trouble makers to begin with. He watched Steve quietly take his bag and leave the scene. The promise of making the guilty parties pay for his car damage (thankfully the auto shop was less than a block away and the damage was easily fixed) was only a small reassurance.

Any idle thoughts Sam had had about needing people and being good for society were quickly abolished as he reviewed the events of the morning. Everything had been fine until he decided to involve himself. He never would have had to deal with this if he had kept his head down and finished his French toast. If Steve Freaking Rogers hadn't come along and gotten into his head, he would have been _fine._

But then Sam remembered the proud, relieved applause in the diner, and his anger was curdled into doubt. It had felt nice to be nice. He had spent so long drifting through one place or another, keeping his head down and minding his own business that Sam had almost forgotten what charity felt like.

He toyed with the thought of calling Jessica while he waited for his car to be fixed, but decided against it. He had had enough well intended meddling for one day. Sam just wanted to get on the road and escape Steve's look of desperate apology. He had looked like a kicked puppy when Sam had yelled at him, but he _deserved—_ brought it on himself—was just trying to help.

Sam sighed and put his head in his hands. Even if he really _was_ feeling the nauseous flickers of guilt in his stomach (that may have just been anxiety for his car), how could he apologize to a stranger already long gone?

Sam couldn't think of a bigger relief than climbing in his car and escaping the oppressive need to help that now defined the small town. When he was finally able to disappear down the misty highway, Sam told himself that he was okay. He felt tense until he sailed past Seattle and finally placing the last few dregs of Steve behind him. Now it was just Sam and the car and the endless road.

It was just Sam and his regrets and his endless solitude.

That night, in another small town surrounded by the dark and an overcast sky and the pine trees, Sam called Jessica.

"What's this, two calls in two days? You're making me sweat, Sam."

"I had a really crappy day, Jess," Sam said. He couldn't fake a light tone.

"Oh? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just…I wanna go home," he whispered, throat tightening as he admitted something he hadn't known until then. He squeezed his eyes shut as Jessica gave a soft moan of sympathy.

"Oh, Sammy," she sighed. "Come on home."

He tightened his grip on the phone and clenched his jaw against the small sob that had been building for weeks. He didn't hang up with Jessica for a long, long time.

* * *

The next day, Sam prepared to return home. The trip that had taken weeks to complete would now take him less than two days to reverse. There was something symbolic in that, but Sam was too worn to decide what.

As Sam repacked his car he found a small note written on a napkin in the back seat. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but the words ' _In case you need a friend',_ followed by a phone number gave him a good idea. Sam's first surly impulse was to crumple the napkin up, forget the overly friendly and horribly unlucky man he had given a ride, and speed home, but Sam hesitated.

Steve wasn't to blame for any of Sam's problems. He had only ever tried to help.

_This is stupid. You don't even know if this is his number. What are you even doing?_ Sam thought to himself as he pulled out his phone and slowly tapped in the number.

The phone rang a couple of times, and then, "Hello?"

"Uh, this is—this is Sam Wilson."

"Oh, hey," Steve said, and dammit, Sam was _far_ too familiar with the sound of relief filtered through a phone speaker. "How are you? How's your car?"

"Good as new, they fixed it up right away. Didn't have to pay a dime."

"Glad to hear it."

"And you, did you end up in Seattle…?"

"Oh, yeah, got in yesterday afternoon. Just enough time to get settled before Bucky's party today."

"Party?"

"It's nothing much, really just me, him, and his girlfriend having dinner together. She's promised to cook his favorites, so…"

"That—that sounds like fun."

"Yeah, it should be."

Sam licked his lips, dragged in a breath, then said the words he had called to say. "Look, man, I'm sorry for blowing up at you yesterday. That was totally uncalled for, and you just…you were only trying to help. I was having a rough patch, it literally had nothing to do with you."

"Don't even worry about it," Steve said, and Sam could feel the smile in his words. "Like you said, you're the same as me, you just get there a little slower. Things will work out soon."

"I'm starting to believe that," Sam said, nodding his head. He paused, satisfied that he had done his job and done it well. He was about to hang up when Steve began talking again.

"Look, I know this is kinda out of the blue, but are you still in the area?"

"What? Uhm, yeah?"

"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?"

"Dinner? I don't—but you're having your friend's birthday party."

"Yeah, but I've already talked to him and he's totally cool with it. He's known some pretty bad days, too, so he understands when a person just needs some help."

"I—uh—sure?" he said, not really knowing how the words came out of his mouth but finding them there anyway. "Sure, yeah, uhm…actually, lunch would be better, would you mind if…?"

"Of course, yeah. Let me text you the address," Steve said, and Sam knew him well enough to know that he was probably beaming.

Sam felt nervous as he knocked on the door a few hours later. But then the door was opening and he was met with smiles from the woman and two men facing him. The man that had opened the door stepped back and ushered him in.

"Bucky Barnes," he said, sticking out his hand. "And this is my girlfriend, Natasha."

"Glad to meet you," the woman said, giving him a quick smile.

"And you know this punk," Bucky said, pointing his thumb back at Steve.

"Yeah, I do," Sam said, slipping off his coat and entering into a home that felt like a hug hello.

Driving the road to recovery probably wouldn't take two days like Sam had hoped. It might even take as long as the dreary descent he had just pulled himself out of. But he felt confident that, with the help of some friends to push him forward and pull him higher, it would be a thousand times less difficult.


End file.
